


Blurry

by gokkyun



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-21
Updated: 2016-07-21
Packaged: 2018-07-25 19:06:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7544368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gokkyun/pseuds/gokkyun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're all they have left.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blurry

**Author's Note:**

> me at 4 AM: I could go to sleep or write R76  
> me now at 5 AM, uploading this: why  
> (one hinted sentence from one of my other fics included but you don't have to read it to get it BYE) 
> 
> Enjoy, all that sweet stuff like comments/critique/kudos as always appreciated.

It's not love anymore. Or is it? You aren't sure but whatever it is, it shakes through your old bones and your core as his fingers dig into your hips and his lips make you his slave, for the first time in many years. You know it's bad because the two of you are bad for each other, have been before death forced you to separate. Which is ironic enough, considering the man above you describes himself as death in person now. 

You scoff at the thought, like you scoffed at the leather jacket and the skull mask and those impractical talons on his gloves when he first introduced himself to you as a mere ghost of his former self, with you being nothing more than a bloody and confused mess on the ground. And that's how it all started and came full circle, how he and you danced around each other again, like you did when you were young and naïve and when his dark brown eyes sucked you into his spell completely. 

The dance ends now, with the two of you tangled together in a for your tastes oversized hotel bed for the first time in, what, six years? You are naked and sweating. So is he. But both of you have changed, for better or worse. Worse, most likely. You are covered from head to toe in scars, old ones that he knows or at least knew about and new ones, him exploring both types with his hands. Hands that are painted in his magnificent mahogany skin as well as sickly gray and rotting skin at the same time. He looks like death, you think, not in a horrifying way but rather in a worrisome one. It's almost as if the grave could not hold either of your bodies down for the sole reason of finding your ways back to each other. 

Dusty memories and gone years lie in his touches that force you out of your thoughts and your heart pounds against your chest like a hammer. He presses his cold palm to your chest to which you shiver and if he hadn't become too horrific inhumane, you'd think he wants to calm you down. Those deep brown eyes of his that burn with devilish red flames at times glance back into your blue eyes and down to your parted lips before he claims them as his, because he's greedy and impatient, always has been. The whimper that you release into his mouth is needy and you aren't sure if it's because of how your tongues move against each other in unsated desire or if it's the three wet and reverent fingers in your hole, pressing and curling against your sweet spot insistently. 

You want to concentrate on him, on the bittersweet and incomparable taste he leaves in your mouth but question after question floods your mind. Questions like why are we doing this, questions like how is this possible, questions like is this even real because god knows you have imagined this often. But it's real and your body tells you it is, because your body remembers. Remembers how only his hard body would feel against yours. Remembers how only his fingers and tongue feel inside of your hole and mouth as they tease you simultaneously and drive you to the brink but not over it. 

There are no protests from you as he pulls his fingers out of you with a vulgar sound, only a sigh of urgency and longing. He replies with that deep and almost gruesome laughter of his and it makes your teeth dig into your lower lip, knowing damn well just how much he relinquishes in your neediness. But somehow you don't seem to mind because for what it's worth, you've never felt this much and this alive in six years. 

Your skin is burning where he touched you earlier. You've always loved his big and strong and perfect hands on your pale skin. They left angry marks and you hope they do again so you have something to hold onto when he's gone again because, pathetic as it sounds and as it feels, he's all you've got left in this rotten world. 

And yet you tell yourself that this will never happen again. That it can never happen again, that tonight is a mistake because your loneliness took over. That it can never happen again, even though it feels so good and right and familiar, especially when he slowly pushes into you, holding your gaze as both of you moan in unison and your hands twist in the messy sheets next to your head. And somehow he still radiates this by now broken warmth when he looks at you like this, like you are all he's got left as well, and your heart aches in response. 

Both your mind and voice are wrecked as you ask him, no, beg him for another kiss while he rams into you without holding back. You are glad he doesn't hold back, even more so as you feel his heated breath against your lips and the rough smell of sex and sweat lingering in the air. It sends you into a familiar blur. He sends you into a familiar blur. 

You hope it never ends.


End file.
